


Sympathy for the Devil

by MrsMollyH



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood, Blood Kink, Coming Untouched, Demon Dean Winchester, Edgeplay, First Time, Gun Kink, Impala Sex, M/M, Porn, Season/Series 04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-04
Updated: 2014-04-04
Packaged: 2018-01-18 04:29:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1415170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsMollyH/pseuds/MrsMollyH
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam gets hurt in a hunt after Dean comes back from Hell (4.1) and Dean is inexplicably fascinated by the blood. Because maybe, just maybe, there’s still some demon in him and maybe, just maybe, that demon convinced him that now is the time to get Sam keening his name over and over again. Finally.</p><p>First fic in this fandom. Unbetaed.</p><p>Note: Copyright infringement not intended. Characters belong to their creators, not me.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sympathy for the Devil

Dean was aware the cut in Sam’s obliques as soon it happened; he could smell it. The werewolf had gotten too close and had sliced Sam open before he could gank him. Dean couldn’t help but think that had he been more focused, had Sam not been quite so high on Ruby’s blood, maybe this shit wouldn’t have happened. But Sam had pulled through and shot the son of a bitch in a haze of blood and sinew; nonetheless, he was still hurt. 

There was still some demon in Dean, and he couldn’t fight it. He could smell Ruby’s blood mixed with his brother’s and it hurt. But the hurt and Sam’s hard-lined jaw came together rather nicely, and fuck if the combination didn’t have want pooling in Dean’s cock and he could feel that black-eyed portion of his soul stirring.

"Sam?" Dean rasped, "You okay, Sammy?"

Sam breathed hard, but huffed an affirmative. Sam was leaning against the Impala about fifteen feet away, and Dean closed the distance quickly. Sam looked up, met Dean’s eyes. If you asked him later, maybe Sam would have said the eyes looked black. Maybe he wouldn’t have said anything. But Dean could see there was something in Sam under the pain. There was more to that rasping breath. It meant more, and Dean, with that knowledge of pain and pleasure that Alistair had given him, whipped and fucked into him, Dean could _smell_ it.

"Sammy," Dean grunted, visibly retraining himself, "either get into the Impala or I… yeah, I can’t be held responsible for what happens next." Sam’s lips tightened over his teeth, bared them, but he didn’t move.

Dean moved his hands to the Sam’s shirttails and removed the dark green overshirt his brother was wearing. There were several bloody slashes in the side of the black t-shirt Sam wore underneath. The wounds were still suppurating, hot and fresh. Dean could smell pure Sam tinged with Ruby, and that dark-eyed side of himself was wild for it. Dean pulled away the fabric of the shirt and he touched the wounds, and Sam hissed, breathing in hard.

Dean’s fingers slid over the blood, caked in it. His breath was hot, his eyes focused on it. With a quick move, Dean fumbled open the buttons of Sam’s jeans, rucked them down. Sam’s cock was swollen and leaking, and Dean was hard in his pants, hard enough to pound a railroad spike, and he spun his brother so that he was facing the hot hood of the Impala. Sam hissed at the heat of the hood and the slow-cooling engine underneath it against the wounds, cursing, swallowing hard. 

"Want it, Sam?" Dean bit into Sam’s ear. "Want your brother’s cock inside of you?” The sound Sam made was not dissimilar to those Dean had heard from those on the rack, but there was definite want there, need _fuck_ want. Dean licked his fingers and took in Sam’s blood, rolled it over his tongue and savored the burn that Ruby’s blood added. Dean licked his fingers and slid one inside his brother, slowly, enjoying the keening sound coming from Sam, watching his breath fog the hood of the Impala as it grew louder. Dean removed his Taurus from the back of his jeans, placed it just in Sam’s line of sight.

"Like that Sammy?" Dean murmured, slipping a second finger inside his brother and scissoring them. The action made Sam buck his hips back and Dean couldn’t miss the hard-set wanton clench of his jaw. Dean worked his brother open, hand moving and thrusting, loosening Sam’s hole and fucking him open. He added a third finger and Sam nearly sobbed into the oil slick black paint of the Impala, fucking himself on his brother’s fingers.

Dean made quick work of his own jeans, and pulled his cock from his boxers, then shoved hard, desperate, grunting, into Sam. There was no grace to it, just hard thrusts that slammed Sam’s hips into the chrome grille of the Impala. 

Dean moved his hand to the wounds in Sam’s side and once again fingered the blood there, taking in the heat, rolling his fingertips against each other, slicking them. Sam moaned into the hood of the car. The demon left in Dean was right beneath the surface, pushing against Dean’s skin and redlining his need. With a grunt, Dean let his head fall back as he continued to fuck in and out of his brother, and when he blinked Dean might have sworn he felt that black shield nearly come down over his eyes. Dean picked up the Taurus and pressed the pistol into the dip between his brothers shoulder blades.

"Dean—" Sam stuttered, alarmed, his voice ragged.

"It’s okay little brother, just take it. Take my cock or I'll fuck you with the gun." And with those words, Dean carefully pulled back the hammer on the pistol. Sam breathed hard, moaned at the sound, knowing how his brother’s strong hands looked holding the gun and he fucked back hard on Dean’s dick. Dean saw that Sam was bleeding on the Impala, and the red of his blood was almost black in the moonlight.

"Fuck, yes, Dean, please," and Sam's keening, moaning, not even making sense. Dean can feel in his soul that this was meant to happen, he was meant to corrupt his little brother and fuck does it feel right. Dean's rhythm picked up speed, slamming Sam's hipbones into the metal of the car, and he pressed the pistol hard between Sam's shoulder blades, then dragged it down until the barrel was settled at the base of Sam's spine. With one motion, with one pull of his index finger, Dean could shatter Sam's spine with the bullet in the chamber, and the knowledge went straight to Sam's cock. Sam came hard, painting the Impala white, and Dean slammed into him once, twice, a third time, hips stuttering, and filled his brother.

"Don't know how long I've needed that," Sam grunted.

"I waited forty years, Sam. I waited through Hell." Dean replied, eyes going black.


End file.
